


The Incident

by The_Mishamigo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depressed Tony Stark, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Protective Avengers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:22:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mishamigo/pseuds/The_Mishamigo
Summary: During a mission, Tony Stark seems to purposely harm himself. The team, unaware of how much his mind screamed at him, go to see him in the hospital. Will Tony be able to keep his secret to himself?
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Kudos: 83





	The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get into the angst world, but i dont know if im very good at it lol
> 
> TW- References to child abuse, suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt

What made a superhero? Was it someone strong? Super-powered? Maybe it was somebody who was willing to lay their life down on the line? 

For some people, that wasn’t exactly hard. Dying on the battlefield was just... normal. Respected, even. In fact, for some, it was a dream. A dream so sweet that they’d refuse to speak it. Just in case somebody heard.

For Tony Stark, it was all he could think about.

He wasn’t suicidal, no. When he spent hours at night, just thinking, that word would orbit his mind. But, no. It just... didn’t feel right. He never thought about actively ending it. He just wouldn’t be mad if somebody else did it for him. 

Alcohol was a lifeline, a stepping stool into feeling completely empty/numb. It helped. Without it, Tony could only think about his mistakes. Or how Pepper left him, completely alone and broken. 

The burn against his throat was a welcoming feeling. The way it splashed down his throat, making his mind feel fuzzy. He could down a whole glass of vodka without blinking an eye, something he watched his father do every night whilst growing up. He’d usually end up collapsing onto one of the lab’s workbenches. He definitely had the bruises to prove it. 

Howard Stark was/is idolised by many people. Scientists, idealists, futurists and Tony’s own teammate... Captain America. Nobody knew what the man was really like, or who he had become in some cases. In reality, there was nothing to look up to. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the Stark family. His father was an alcoholic, not caring when his son started to take a bottle or two at the age of fourteen. 

Meeting Steve Rogers and hearing praise about daddy-dearest... it hit a nerve. Howard was only ever proud of Steve. He’d always compare the young child, who was probably knee deep into a project, to the super soldier. But Tony would listen. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t hear from his father for another week. If he wasn’t yelling, his father would be telling him about his greatest achievement. 

Strangely enough, he’d look forward to hearing about Steve. He had all the comics and was a great fan. Although the sting was still there, hearing the man who created him gush about someone else, he taught himself to love the pain. It was the only way he’d feel love at all. 

His mother, Maria, wasn’t much better. Tony knew, from the moment in which he found out what love was, that she regretted meeting his father. From the moment Tony took his first breath, he was a burden. Nothing to write home about, even when he got into MIT as a fifteen-year-old. They were just glad to see him go. 

Jarvis, his beacon of light, was the perfect example of a hero. Tony would pray to God, in which he didn’t believe in, to be Jarvis’ son. To get rid of his father. When he died, there was nothing left. The only thing that he lived for was six feet under. 

Howard hit him for the first time when he was eight-years-old. Apparently building a fully functioning robot wasn’t good enough for him, even if he’d made it from scratch. What was more important was the board meeting he was in (probably some half-assed invention that would be scrapped within weeks). His father didn’t appreciate the intrusion and decided to smack his son five times across the head instead. 

Crying wasn’t welcomed either. Every time he made a noise, Howard would just push further. He’d leave a mark, something for Jarvis to find and worry about. Maria looked a little concerned when she first saw him doing it, but then... nothing. She just went on her way and did nothing about the bruised teenager sitting idly on their bedroom floor. 

Rhodey noticed the grimace on his face when his father said goodbye to him. The press was everywhere. They couldn’t believe someone so young got into one of the biggest colleges. Everyone was praising Howard for giving his kid such a good life. So, of course, his father was milking the publicity. 

And when his new roommate saw him flinch, he pulled Tony away from Howard before he could fake a loving moment. Meeting him, it was the first time he felt protected since Jarvis died. He heard Howard yelling, but how could he care? Rhodey was too busy helping him set up his stuff. For once, he thought he could be happy.

As soon as he got out of college, his life was about drugs and partying. Having sex with anyone that moved... that one was a huge bonus. Back then, he’d come home from a night out and vomit. Two hours later, he’d be sipping on the bottles he had in storage. He thought he liked it, he thought it was what he wanted. 

Rhodey cried so hard when he first overdosed. He knew they had a dinner scheduled, and he knew that his best friend would be upset, but he decided he wanted to take some pills anyway. He didn’t want to die, he just wanted to take enough to make himself unconscious. In that moment, he could admit he was feeling suicidal. 

But the pills made him giddy. When he woke up to Rhodey’s fingers down his throat (trying to make him vomit them up), he realised it wasn’t the most disgusting thing that his best friend ever helped him with. He coughed as Rhodey let him go, trying to look guilty. But he wasn’t. He was more disturbed that it didn’t last longer. 

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. Stark men don’t cry. They don’t. He heard it during every meltdown, during every teenager grump. Mostly, he heard it when he was flinching away from his father’s wrist.

Afghanistan was sort of a relief. It definitely wasn’t ideal and he was scared, but he felt like he was finally getting what he wanted. Pepper, Happy and Rhodey were all in the will. They’d get what they came for. He was going to die and he couldn’t stop smiling about it.

When Pepper watched the clip of him getting hit, she cried more for the fact that Tony seemed to enjoy it. And not in a fetish kind of way, more of a ‘I deserve this’. Tony said to her, out-right, when he came back that it was. He never expected to see them again. 

When the first Iron Man suit worked, when he left Yinsen behind, he struggled. For the first time in his life, he saved himself. But, he let another down. It should’ve been him. Yinsen could’ve taken the mantle. Before he went upstairs to bed, he hit himself on the leg. It didn’t do much, so he pinched the skin. He just... needed it.

It was hard to explain. The pain grounded him. As he refused to get under water, too scared that he’d never come up again, they tried to get someone to help him. But he knew they’d see his skin and report it. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t hear pity filled remarks. He didn’t need people to worry about him, as he had never worried too much about himself anyway. 

So when the team moved in, invading the only space in which he ever felt safe, his whole being began to crumble. He spent longer in the lab, longer away from other people and only jumped up whenever he heard the Avenger’s assemble bell ring through the room. 

Flying through the sky in his Iron Man suit, as flames and battles raged underneath him, was the only time in which he felt like he could breathe properly. Away from everyone, from his team that looked at him like they knew him. 

They didn’t. The team thought that he was stubborn, that he spent time in his lab to purposely ignore them. His front and his attitude, they pretended as if they knew why he was like he was. When he refused to take a piece of paper, when they handed it out to him, they’d yell and excuse him of pretending to be better than them. 

Tony flew, ignoring Steve’s cry into his comms. He was moving straight towards the source of the invasion, not caring about the consequences. Tony knew that if he got hit, he’d fall to the pavement and fall unconscious. Maybe something a lot more than that. He looked down at the floor, saw his teammates stood in a circle, and pressed forward. His suit and the repulsers killed the portal, as well as the power in the armour. 

He remembered something similar to this, back in the day. In the Avenger’s first battle. New York City. Flying the nuke up to space. But, this time? He just hoped that no-one would catch him as he fell. 

He let his eyes close, let a smile fall upon his lips, and just accepted it. He didn’t even make a noise. Just, nothing. 

“Tony!” Someone called. He wasn’t even sure who was shouting. He didn’t care, however. He didn’t care at all. 

Then, just before he hit the pavement, a pair of big arms enclosed around him. He groaned, his head making him feel concussed from the height that he dropped, and the way he bounced off the side of the buildings. He wasn’t sure who caught him, but he knew that they were not letting go.

“Hulk? Pass him here,” Another person said. In that moment, he felt like a parcel that was passed around a crowd in a party. He was in another set of arms, who forced the faceplate away from him (they must’ve been strong).

Tony blinked a few times, barely managing to open his eyes properly. The blurry image of the person refused to let him go, mouthing something to him. He knew that they were saying his name, or telling him to wake up, but he didn’t have the energy to reply. 

“Tony!” Steve called, but Tony still didn’t know it was him, shaking him gently. He carried him, bridal position and all, towards the Quinjet. 

When Tony finally woke up, days later (although not known to him), he was attached to IV’s and wires and laid on a soft hospital bed. His breath was harsh, making his torso burn, as he tried to push himself up. But, suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder and pushing him back down. He squirmed from their touch, flinching back so hard that the bed seemed to move a little to the left. 

“Tony, it’s okay,” A voice said, to which he recognised as Bruce Banner’s. “It’s okay, you’re fine.” 

Tony blinked, looking down at his hands. He had scratches everywhere that lined his skin. He spotted a few bruises too. He was okay. So what did he feel so disappointed? 

“Why?” Was the first word Tony spoke, in a while. 

He recognised the pity behind the scientists eyes (or was it concern?), as the man stared him down. He felt insecure, as he turned his head to the door to see the rest of the team wondering in. 

“Bruce caught you,” Steve said, with that, stupid, obnoxious smile of his. His blonde hair was messy, unkept, as if he hadn’t been to sleep in a while. “That was a stupid idea, by the way. You could’ve died.” 

Everyone cracked a smile, or gave a little laugh, but Tony did nothing. He just stared into the white wall of the hospital, blinking slowly. God, he would have loved to have... he stopped his thoughts, clenching his fists. No, he didn’t want to be... dead. He just wanted to feel nothing anymore. 

“Tony?” 

“I-,” Tony squeaked, shuffling around in his bed. “I don’t- why-,” He rambled, not knowing what to say. Should he keep his thoughts to himself? Should he just stay quiet? Nobody loved him. Nobody cared before, so why should they now? 

“What’s up, man?” Clint says, his hand resting on the rail of the hospital bed.

Tony’s eyes fell to the hand on the bed, freaking out. He shook his head a few times, trying to get out. “Please, please- no, I don’t- I don’t want to-“ 

“Tony?” Another said.

All of the people calling for him bugged his head, asking him wether or not he was okay. He wanted to scream at them all to leave him be, to get out of his life. 

“Let me go!” Tony called, beginning to thrash out about in the bed. “Please, get out! I don’t want any of you in here, okay? Get it through your thick skulls that I don’t want to be a part of your superhero family. I just wanted-,” Tony waved his hand in the air, to try and convey that he just empty. 

Whilst most of team looked offended by Tony’s outburst, Natasha understood. She took a step forward whilst the rest of them stared, taking a deep breath before she spoke. 

“Tony, did you want to die today?” She asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

The room went silent, as Tony’s breath hitched. He looked away, not saying another word. He didn’t dare to watch his team react. Although he was sure they’d just laugh, it was never fun to see people pretend to care. He just let himself fall back onto his bed, looking away whenever he made eye contact with someone. 

“What?” He finally said when nobody spoke, His voice as low as a whisper, breaking. The break in his voice ruined the illusion that he tried to set up (the illusion in which he said he was okay). 

“Is it true?” Natasha whispered, trying to make the man look at her. He didn’t. “Tony, come on.” 

Her hand went to move around her wrist, but he flinched away (once again). He stared at the foot of his bed, where Clint’s bow lead against the metal frame. The same bow Tony spent every waking moment on, just to try and make them understand. Understand that it was all he’d ever be good for. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally said, “I’m so sorry,” he said again, shaking his head back and forth. For the first time since the age of six, Tony started to cry. 

“Step away,” Bruce told the room, as Tony struggled to regain control of his breathing. The man was gasping, clutching at his throat as trails of tears ran down his cheeks. “Come on, Tony. It’s okay. You’re here with me, okay? I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

Another hand tried to reach out for him, Tony realised, after his panic attack went on. When he looked up at the contact, he didn’t recognise the person who tried to touch him. When he looked closer, he saw grey hair. Grey hair, with a well kept beard spread across his jawline. His mind, delirious from the panic, told him that it was Howard. His father, stood right in front of him. But, it wasn’t. It was just a doctor. Yet the fear of seeing his father meant he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t understand that the real Howard was six feet underneath the ground. 

“No!” He shouted, which came out more as a scream. “Howard, no! Please, don’t. No more! I can’t! Don’t h-hit me, please!” 

Steve watched his friend, trying to stop himself from crying. He had never seen Tony like this. He had never seen him so devastated, or panicked. He couldn’t believe that Stark, the person who took to life like he didn’t care, had these tendencies drowning his mind. And when he heard him call out for Howard, the person Steve knew, the (second hand?) pain finally hit him.

Steve used to believe that Howard Stark was a good man, the perfect person to look up to. A genius, empathetic and loving. A true ‘idol’, in every sense of the word. That was until twenty seconds ago, when he listened to the panic from his son’s mouth. His face felt green as he watched. So much so, that he needed to get out. Far away from the noise. 

The rest of the team, par Bruce Banner, left the room alongside the super solider. All of them had the same look of horror, or disbelief, on their faces. They sat on the benches outside of the hospital room. The benches that were rarely ever used. 

“So,” Clint tried to start, but he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He took one deep breath to try and ground himself, “That happened, huh?” 

“He wanted to die,” Natasha said, as if she was trying to understand it herself. She clenched her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “He looked at us if he was confused why we’d care, as if life was meaningless.” 

“I-,” Steve tried to say, but he was too ashamed that he didn’t catch it before. He looked to his side, trying to block the noise of Bruce’s whispers to Tony (as he tried to get him to calm down). “I-I don’t-,” 

“Steve, it’s okay,” Natasha sighed, putting her hand into his. Interlocking their fingers, she gave him a small, fake, smile. “We didn’t know, okay? There’s nothing we could’ve done.” 

“He was abused,” Steve said, mainly to himself. “Howard, the man I talked about in front of him... I used to sing that man’s praises in front of the son he’d hit. I-I should’ve seen. I should’ve picked up on the fact that his heartbeat would pick up every time..,” 

“You didn’t know, Steve,” Natasha tried to reassure him, but it just felt on dead ears.

“Where is he?” Rhodey said, bursting through the hallway doors. “Where’s Tones? Is he okay?” 

The team, once again, had never seen their teammate so panicked. Rhodey cared for Tony, always having his back whenever the billionaire refused to come up to movie night (yelling at the team as they’d complain). They never got it, they never understood how hard Tony had it or how much was going on in his head. 

Rhodey’s eyes were red, he had obviously been panicking/crying for his best friend. He was watching, confused and scared, the team as they all were silent. Nobody knew how to say it. 

“He-,” Clint started. 

Their conversation was stopped by the sight of Bruce coming out of the door, with a bruised, teary-eyed Tony around his shoulders. Tony’s lips were pursed, his hair all over the place from the static of the pillows he rolled about on. He couldn’t look them in their eyes, too ashamed to do so. He couldn’t be in that hospital bed for longer, however, which Bruce knew. As soon as the scientists compelled the doctor’s to let Tony go, he made sure he could be at Stark’s beck and call, to not let him until he was sure nothing bad was going to happen.

“I’m not going to load a gun and put it to my head, you know that... right?” Tony blurted, before his mind could catch up with his mouth. When he saw their faces, he tried to retract what he was saying. “I mean, I guess that’s not the best way to say it, is it? Uh, okay. Um, thanks for the concern.”

Rhodey took his friend from Bruce, immediately pulling him into a bone crushing hug that lasted a minute or so. For the first time that night, the man didn’t flinch away from the touch of another person. 

Rhodey was safe. Tony knew that. He could never be scared of him, for all that they’d done together. 

Rhodey let go, tracing a soft hand over Tony’s bruises cheek. He gave him a soft smile, one of disbelief and fear, and let him fall back into Bruce’s grip. “You’re an idiot, Tony Stark. I thought we said not to do something like this again. You know I can’t handle it.” 

“I wanted to help,” Tony said. His voice was different to what they had heard before. They were used to it booming through the tower, demanding attention from those who walked through it. But, here, they figured that was just a lie. That the real Tony Stark was shy, or scared to be who he was, in case of rejection from those around him. To which they did. They yelled, without questioning why Tony acted like he did. 

Tony turned to the team, not letting anyone else get another word in before he started speaking again. “I know, uh, I know that you’re all worried about your latest upgrades, but once mamma-bear over here lets me go without supervision, I’ll get to it.” 

“Jesus,” Clint hissed, rubbing a hand over his face. He knew that he had tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. He looks Tony in the eye, down to the new bow (one of many) in his hands. He snapped the weapon in his hands, ignoring the look of shock in Tony’s face. “I don’t give a crap about that kinda stuff, Stark. I honestly couldn’t care if this whole organisation fell tomorrow, as long as you were here with us.” 

Tony didn’t know what to do. He looked at Bruce, and then back at the others. He couldn’t speak, scared that he’d let more of his secrets go. He bit the bottom of his lip, in an attempt to make something hurt. He needed he- he... 

“Oh Tony,” Steve said, and it was only in that moment that Tony realised the super-soldier was sobbing. “Can I hug you, please? I just- I just need you to know that we love you.” 

With a weak nod, Bruce took that as a yes. He helped Tony get over to Steve, letting the bigger man wrap his arms around Tony’s torso. Steve’s face was buried in the nook of the man’s neck, rubbing Steve’s back as he cried (Tony, still, remained silent).

Natasha was next to say something to him, whispering in his ear as Steve refused to let go. He needed to let the man know, as much as she tried to (also) hide her emotions, that she was there with him. That she cared.

“You’re incredibly strong, Stark,” She said, “You know that? I think you should say it, to me. If you can.” 

“Strong?” Tony laughed, bitterly. He let go of Steve, almost falling back. She caught his hand, making sure he didn’t fall back. “I-I’m not, Nat. I almost let myself die as I was too scared to live.” 

“Don’t say that,” She said, sternly, but there was still love behind her words. “Admitting that you feel like that, Tony. That’s the bravest thing of all.” 

Tony looked to the floor, down to the tiled floors. He took a deep breath. Maybe he deserved it? Maybe, from everything he went through, he could tell himself that he was strong. “I-I’m strong.” 

“There we go,” She said, a soft hand brushing through his hair (a familiar movement, to which he would always do with Peter). “I just hope one day you fully believe it, because you’re the best of us, Stark.”

Tony shook his head a few times, trying to process her words. When he looked over to the door of the hallway, little Peter Parker was walking in. With a paper bag in his hand, he was walking up to him and looking, looking as if he didn’t exist. His little face was scrunched up, in a way in which Tony recognised. He was scared. 

Tony gently pushed past the group, almost stumbling to the floor. He rushed towards Peter, who had clearly been crying, and took him in his arms. In one second, his mind told him that Peter needed him (or, perhaps, it was the other way around?). He had something brilliant to live for, in the form of a wall-climbing soldier. 

“Pete- Petey- Peter, hey,” Tony rambled, holding Peter tighter than he ever had before. “I’m sorry- hey, what did they tell you? I-I promise I didn’t do it on purpose, I- just-,” 

“Mr Stark?” Peter mumbled, crying heavily into the man’s arms. “Please don’t leave me, please don’t-,” 

Tony never had the best childhood, or the best incentive to live, but he had Peter, his kid, and his teammate who cared, and realised that life was better than it ever had been before. But, he knew that, really, it couldn’t be that easy. 

There was still a pain, although lifted slightly, in him that refused to leave. There would be days in which alcohol would be his best friend, or when Friday would lockdown the lab for a week or so, but he knew that he also had the backup of his team. 

And in that paper bag, in which the kid held so tightly, was a picture of a little boy in an Iron Man mask and a bunch of get well soon gifts. That Iron Man mask, which was so, so, familiar. And it took just a second for him to remember. Back in 2010, the Stark Expo, where this kid, apparently his Peter all along, tried to fight back against the drones. The kid that made him want to fight back, even back then, was the one he had grown to love now. 

So, for the few weeks after the ‘incident’ (as Tony started to call it), Bruce forced him into therapy and he started to get out of his lab. Peter stayed over, jumping straight into their Avenger’s movie night like he had been there all along. 

Steve never said a word about his father ever again, ripping the man out of photos as if he was a forgotten ex. Tony never said it, too scared to bring the man up in conversation, but he was entirely thankful. He just never wanted to see those cold eyes ever again. 

And, of course, the super solider spent most of his time doting around Tony. He made sure he ate, or drank, and asked him if he was okay every night before sleep (in which he’d force him to do, also). This time, however, Tony did thank him. To which Steve smiled about, tucking Tony and Pepper in as if they were his children he needed to care for (Pepper wasn’t too bothered). 

When Natasha took a step beside him, she’d look at him as she was glad he was there. Tony realised, in that moment, that she always looked at him like that. He just never knew. 

He also realised that he was making too many discoveries too keep up with, but he didn’t care that much. He needed that feeling, almost one of euphoria, to which he realised he was worth fighting for. 

Tony tried to replace Clint’s bow, but apparently he had made hundreds over the years. Clint had many, many, back-ups to chose from. And, also, Barton refused to let him even go near his file (for at least a few months). It was sort of nice, to have somebody openly refuse his gifts. He was too used to that being his own form of love, his only way to show someone he cared. For Clint to care, without all the materials objects, it warmed his heart. 

Pepper and Rhodey, the only people in the world who knew how bad he was, smiled at him as if they had never been more proud. He took Pepper out on dates, making sure she knew how much he loved her. And how he never wanted to leave her behind, he was just so scared. She knew that, however, and reassured him every day that he was enough.

Rhodey, his best friend since college, had always been there. Practically his first real friend, he always knew how Tony was feeling. In a way, it sometimes felt as if they had a telepathic link between them. Whenever Tony went through another sad spout, the War Machine armour would land on top of the penthouse, making its way in without invitation. Tony never complained, however, as his friend dumped bottles of drink (ones that he didn’t touch, but got out to stare at) down the sink. Someone did love him, someone really did care. If he never had a sip of alcohol again, he wouldn’t give a crap. 

And sometimes, when the days were particularly bad, the War Machine armour would walk in holding a little Spider in his arms. And when he looked into the kid’s excitable eyes, as he spoke about new, brilliant, things in his life, how could he continue to feel alone? 

Peter was a son to him. The boy never knew that before the ‘incident’, but now he heard it every single day. Through a text message, a phone call, a voicemail or even in person. Tony would hold him, ruffling his hair, and tell him that he meant so much to everyone. That he was wonderful and brilliant and he was going to change the world.

Tony was going to stop the cycle of self hatred in his family, telling his kid from an early age that he was worth everything. If he got it through to Peter now, he didn’t care how long it took for himself. For now, he’d just love Peter Parker and hope the kid returned the sentiment (to which he really, really, did). 

Bruce and Tony had always been close. But, now? Bruce cared more and more every day, letting him know how much he cared. How much he respected him, or how much his intelligence was the reason for the Avengers success. How far away he was from Howard Stark, because of his relationship with Peter. 

Tony started to get used to the compliments, almost welcoming them. He started to not shy away, his true personality starting to slide through the cracks once again. His confidence, sass and science-obsessed self- he was just, finally, back. 

And he never wanted to fall again.


End file.
